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“What troubles you, my son?”
I looked up into the rheumy green eyes of Father Duncan McLeod, one of my grandfather’s oldest and dearest friends.
“Nothing, Father.” I looked down. “Okay, that’s not entirely true. Quite a bit is weighing on me right now.” I looked at him again as he placed a hand on my shoulder, the warmth in his eyes easing some of the tension in my chest.
“Care to talk about it, then?” he asked, his Irish accent thick even after all these years of being in the States.
“Most of it is probably better left for confession.” I smiled. “But I do have a couple of questions for you if you have time to answer them.”
“Of course, son.” He looked around the nave. “I haven’t seen any parishioners besides you in hours. I have some good Irish whiskey in my office. Care to join me for a wee nip?”
“Now you’re talking, Father. And maybe not so small. After the couple of days I’ve had, I could use a generous pour. It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?” He smiled, and I followed him beyond the altar area to the sacristy and then to his office at the rear of the building.
It was small but nicely appointed with a cherry wood wardrobe cabinet and desk as well as a set of leather armchairs. He gestured for me to take one and then went to pour our drinks, coming back to hand me one and take the seat across from me.
“What’s on your mind, Paxton?”
“Grandda,” I said.
He made the sign of the cross and nodded. “Oh, aye. Rest his soul. It’s glad I’d be to talk about my dearest mate. I do miss him so.”
I took a deep breath and moved forward, reaching into my back pocket to pull out my phone. When I unlocked it, I went to my photos and brought up the one I needed, handing the cell to Father McLeod.
He set his whiskey glass on the side table next to him, donned his reading glasses, and took the device, taking a moment to study the picture, zooming in to read the text. I waited for him to finish and gauged his reaction. He didn’t seem surprised.
Duncan knew.
“You knew,” I said. “You knew that he was the priest involved with the Moon Call Coven massacre. Did you know where he was when he disappeared from my life, too?” I asked, feeling a bit of my Irish temper rise.
Duncan pursed his lips and nodded, taking a deep breath and letting his shoulders fall on the exhale. When he met my gaze, I saw the sorrow in his expression. I also saw the regret. “Aye, son. I did. Dougal was a good man. A very good man. He didn’t do what some thought he did. He had nothing to do with any of those deaths. Hesavedlives that day. He ultimately sacrificed himself to safeguard those he could.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand. Why did I never know this? Did Da know?Doeshe know?” I asked.
He tipped his head back and forth, side to side, and then reached for his glass to take a sip of his whiskey. “I believe he knows some. Not all. Nobody knows all. Not even me. But I know enough, I do. I know enough to know that Father Dougal McGuire singlehandedly stopped an evil coven of Satan-worshipping witches from sacrificing more innocent lives and ultimately ended up paying for it with his life. God rest his soul.” He crossed himself again.
“Wait, do you know more about how he died? I don’t believe for one second that he took his life. He never would have risked his soul like that.”
“I do not believe he did, either. No. But I also do not know all that happened on that Montana mountain pass. I only know what had been happening to and with him after the events at Lamour.”
“I think you’d better tell me all that youdoknow, Father. Fill in some of these blanks for me. Because we are investigating the Lamour Mansion forHaunted New Orleansand have encountered more than we ever bargained for already. I’m afraid to see what might happen next, and the research on the history of the place has been much too slow for my liking. The facts we’ve uncovered have been incomplete, and the theories inconclusive. I need to plug some of these holes and make sure that my team and I are safe. Since I can no longer talk to Grandda about it, and Da seems to want nothing to do with me because of my falling out with the archdiocese, you’re my only hope.”
“Okay, my boy. I best be refilling our glasses, then. This is a tale one does not share or receive clear-headed.”
* * *
Hours later,I was finally on my way back to the house, my head spinning and mind reeling. I couldn’t believe everything that Father McLeod had shared. About two blocks away from home, my phone rang. I pulled the cell out of my pocket to see Hanlen’s name on the screen.
“Hey, Hanlen,” I said.
“Hey, yourself,” she replied. “So, I got some information for you.”
“Yeah? I just got a boatload of information myself.”
“You did?” she asked.
“Yep. I went to see my grandfather’s best friend, Father Duncan McLeod at St. Patrick’s. All those holes that we couldn’t fill in regarding the Moon Call Coven massacre and the priest? Well, I just filled in a ton of them.”
“Wait a minute. I’m confused. That’s not what you had me looking into.”
